


A Dirty Mind is a Terrible Thing to Waste

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Comedy, Erotica, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Masturbation, Second War with Voldemort, Slash, The Quidditch Pitch: The Changing Room, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-06-23
Updated: 2009-06-23
Packaged: 2018-10-27 16:27:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10812660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: How Lee Jordan learned to relax and embrace his inner pervert.





	A Dirty Mind is a Terrible Thing to Waste

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).
> 
>  **Author's notes:** Written for Daily Deviant's February 2009 prompt of 'prornography'

The best thing, Lee reckoned, about being mates with 'the twins' was the porn. Well, maybe not the _best_ thing, and for that matter, it had been years since he'd thought of them as a unit rather than as distinct and equally brilliant individuals, but the porn was certainly an added bonus. To this day, he wondered how they had managed to get the sheer volume they had, let alone the variety and the quality, and for that matter, to manage to sneak it into a school that was sealed up tighter than a nun's twat. Which they actually had pictures of--if you can believe that. Well, not likely a _real_ nun, but the habit was convincing enough (along with whatever of his father's lapsed Catholic guilt had seeped into his subconscious) that he couldn't look at it for long.  


  
Now granted, when he'd first got to be friends with them, porn wasn't really an issue. Much. He'd just got to the point of curiosity about the opposite sex, and a glimpse of thigh or the hint of a bra strap was enough to send him out of the room with a rapidly stiffening cock and a face that felt as if it was on fire. He knew his cousin Roger had a stash of Playboys and he'd seen the adult video shop his mum would try to shield his eyes from as they walked to the market, but he still didn't quite understand why anyone would want to look at pictures of girly bits on purpose. Seemed like a waste of time when there were pranks to be pulled and teachers yelling at you and everyone in the room watching you and wondering how cool it must be to be best friends with the funniest blokes in the school.   
  
But, one day Fred signaled him from across the common room, bouncing on the balls of his feet while George stood nearby, smirking slyly. Lee followed them upstairs, where they locked the door and opened up a box containing rather dubious-looking Muggle magazines. He'd been expecting something new from Zonkos, or a bit of dodgy potions, but he had certainly not been expecting _tits._ Glorious, terrifying--so close he felt he could reach out and grasp them--tits. They were unlike anything he'd ever seen in his life. Looking at them made him feel too warm, and his skin seemed to be tingling everywhere, and his cock leapt to attention almost as if there was a magnet of some sort in the staples at the center of the glossy paper. He looked from Fred to George, unable to fathom what they expected him to say or do about what he was seeing, but they just gave him matching leers, picked up random magazines from the stack, and disappeared behind the curtains of their respective beds. Lee stood there for a moment, staring with his mouth agape at the closed curtains, hearing noises coming from within that he hadn't heard since his cousin Mike came to stay for the summer hols and spent all his time locked in the upstairs bathroom.   
  
Lee was mortified but intrigued, and while he was familiar enough with the mechanics of the activity, it was something he'd always done in shame, under the cover of darkness and silence. But Fred and George didn't seem the least bit embarrassed--in fact, they seemed to be including him on an adventure of sorts, and when had he ever been able to resist one of those?   
  
He picked one of the last three magazines left over, which had a golden-haired girl on the cover wearing a fluffy pink jumper that looked as though it had been washed about ten times in hot water. She didn't appear to be wearing anything underneath it, either, and the smile on her face made you think that maybe she got off on the fact that you couldn't take your eyes off her tits and the nipples that poked out into the soft-looking wool as if someone had just set a cooling charm on her.   
  
He climbed onto his bed and shut the curtains as tightly as he could manage, embarrassed to think that Fred and George (and Phil, if he ever came back from the library) knew exactly what he would be doing in there. Somehow, though at the same time, he felt oddly excited by the idea--he could almost picture them--would they wank in the same way, using the same hand, the same movements, have identical expressions on their faces? Would that odd sort of telepathy they had translate into wanking in sync?   
  
He set the magazine on his lap and turned the pages, his cock expanding a bit more with each image he came across. Finally, he settled on one, a strawberry blonde in a tartan skirt, with a school tie flung over her shoulder and her blouse open wide. Her tits were pale, just slightly larger than those on anyone he knew, with pale pink nipples and a smattering of freckles across them. If he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine what they would feel like in his hand. He reached under the magazine, down into his trousers and his cock twitched at the stimulation. He wondered why he was hesitating. To his left, Fred was grunting, and to his right, George was muttering words Lee couldn't make out. He undid his flies, and his cock leapt out into the open, apparently pleased to see the light of day for once. Setting the magazine aside where he could still keep an eye on it, Lee spit in his hand and wrapped his fingers loosely around his cock. It felt as good as it ever did, maybe better, because the guilt he'd become accustomed to was nowhere near as powerful as the anticipation he felt, knowing that afterwards he'd have someone to joke and tease him about it, someone who thought what he was doing was not only understandable, but jolly good fun.   
  
He looked at the face of the girl--her brown eyes were alight with mischief--she looked like she'd be lots of fun to hang around, she looked like she'd be up for anything, maybe even the sort who'd be willing to put his cock in between those soft pink lips, maybe even take it all the way inside her mouth, maybe even swallow after he came. With a bit of imagination he could see it all unfolding-- she'd bite her lip afterward the way she was doing it in the picture, licking a drop of his spunk off the corner of her mouth. Or maybe not--maybe she'd decide not to let him come in her mouth, but instead she'd pull away and lay back the way she was, with her legs open and her knickers around one ankle, still wearing her knee socks and sensible shoes, her wet pink pussy just beckoning him to stick his cock inside, and bloody hell, wouldn't _that_ feel good? At least he assumed it would, he'd heard that it was a hell of a lot better than your hand--hotter, tighter, and quite frankly, his hand already felt bloody fucking brilliant, pumping hard, squeezing tight, gathering moisture from the tip of his cock as he went, though he had to keep spitting to keep it lubricated. Maybe he should invest in a bottle of lotion, or maybe he should dig up that one his mum had packed with his things, admonishing him to take care of his skin and not let his elbows and knees look gray and scaly, and oh, shit, it was probably a bad idea to think about Mum at such a moment, better to think about the girl, who almost seemed to be winking at him, and the hand on her thigh seemed to be twitching, getting ready to move between her legs, and what he wouldn't give to watch her touch herself, and did girls do that sort of thing or was it just tarts in magazines? This girl didn't really seem like a tart in spite of the fact that she had her legs open for every man in Britain, she seemed just like any of the girls he knew, though he couldn't even begin to imagine what he would do if he saw Alicia or Katie or Angelina doing something like this, and ohgodohgodohgodohgod oh, fuck, _Angelina,_ and Lee whimpered and came all over his fist, the spunk spilling over his fingers like icing dripping artfully down a piece of chocolate cake. Exhausted, he fell back against the bed, feeling depraved and debauched and utterly fucking brilliant, so brilliant that he had to laugh, and wasn't it just bloody fucking wonderful that that his laughter was joined by two identically infectious laughs on either side of him?   
  
And so it began--every few days he'd see that look in George's eye or Fred's, and they'd rush through their classwork knowing that upstairs, a package of contraband beckoned, and who knew what it would be this time, Wizard or muggle, black girls, white girls, asian girls; girls posing with their legs spread, with shaved twats and improbably huge tits; girls together, touching each other, kissing; girls and blokes fucking in such a manner that you got to see nearly all of the girl and none of the bloke, so that you could just imagine that you were him--that you were the one getting your cock bounced on, that you were the one with those spectacular tits in your hands, twisting her nipples, or having her on her knees in front of you, maybe even with her hands tied behind her back, fucking her mouth with your cock. There were girls in costume, some resembling the very schoolgirls that surrounded them, some in sporting attire, some in clothes that only a girl who made her living wrapped around a pole would wear, some in leather or plastic so tight you could see everything underneath, looking as if she'd just as soon spank you as fuck you, and wouldn't either option be brilliant? There were girls sucking on other girls tits, girls licking other girls’ cunts, and girls who had two blokes fucking her at the same time, one in her pussy, one in her arse.   
  
Over the years, the variety was astonishing, and Lee couldn't begin to imagine where the twins’ source (or sources, more like) had found such things. There were threesomes and orgies of every variation, there were girls fucking or getting fucked by animals, there were centaurs and mermaids and house elves (never again, thank you very much) and even grainy documentary-style footage of a pair of giants who knocked an entire forest down in their enthusiasm. There were sex toys like handcuffs and whips and masks and ball gags and giant dildos and butt plugs and girls who liked to dress up as equestrians paired conveniently enough with blokes who liked to dress up as horses. Admittedly, some of it grossed him out more than turned him on, but it was like a gory accident--you couldn't help but look--and sometimes you were turned on, in a sick sort of way.   
  
Of course, the apparently bottomless fountain of smut dried up to nothing when Fred and George took off on that fateful spring day, leaving Lee terrified for them and feeling an aching loneliness and frustration that made his last few months at school miserable. It wasn't just the lack of porn, and Merlin knew Lee had already managed to discover what it actually felt like to have a real girl's tits in your hand, a real girl's cunt squeezing the spunk out of your cock, but at that point the wanking sessions were nearly as much about tradition and camaraderie as sexual release.   
  
Sitting by yourself on your bed--even with one of the better classic skin mags--wasn't nearly as much fun when your mates weren't in the next bed over. But he had a lot of time to think during those months, and one of the things he thought about while trying to work up the interest in a wank was the time when he'd been so anxious to get to bed with the magazine in his hand (Busty Bondage Bitches) that he forgot to close the curtains all the way. Which wasn't unusual--the worst that could happen was that Phil would walk into the room, call the lot of them perverts and leave immediately.   
  
The thing was, though--just as Lee was nicely lubed up and getting a decent rhythm, he discovered that George hadn't closed the curtains all the way either. And though Lee had always had a pretty good idea of what George was doing in there and what it probably looked like (hell, he'd caught Fred at it while camping for the World Cup, hadn't he?) the reality was far more intriguing than he could have imagined. George's head was back and his normally bright eyes were closed and his mouth was open and Lee could just barely make out the fact that George was licking his lips. His shirt was unbuttoned all the way and Lee could almost see the thin patch of bright hair between his nipples, one of which George was twisting. Lee's hand stilled on his cock and his other hand reached up to do the same thing as George, and he found that he rather liked the sensation, as his friend clearly did.   
  
And then Lee found himself lowering his eyes to the hand that was almost a blur as it moved back and forth, with white knuckles and the purplish tip of George's cock appearing and then disappearing in the circle of his fist. Lee's hand began moving again, and he was almost afraid to breathe but more turned on than he ever could have imagined. He'd managed to very nearly echo George's rhythm, and no--he was most certainly not thinking about what it would feel like if it was George's hand there instead of his own, or his hand instead of George's over there on the bed. And then George made a noise unlike any Lee had heard before, and Lee could see that he was shuddering, and the look on George's face indicated rapture or bliss or possibly constipation, and he grunted twice and Lee's eyes flew back down to his friend's hand and he could see the liquid coming out in spurts, running over George's fingers. Lee's fist began to fly, and he looked up and found George's eyes on him, all hooded and unreadable but very definitely staring straight at him, and Lee's body gave a powerful shudder and he came all over his fingers--not to mention up onto his stomach and even to the edges of his shirt. He closed his eyes and laid back as his body shivered and tingled, wondering what the hell had just happened. When he finally got up the nerve to leave the sanctuary of his bed, everything was normal--George didn't seem to treat him any differently. Well, Lee supposed, maybe he hadn't noticed after all, or maybe he'd grown used to wanking with an audience--of course he had--he and Fred had shared a room after all. But what really bothered Lee was that sometimes, in the months that followed, the image of George opening his eyes and watching like that crept in and replaced the image of the girl on the page in front of him (and in one instance or two, the image of the girl currently riding his cock, though Lee did his best to push it away.)   
  
It was when George (and Fred) left school so abruptly that Lee was forced to think about it. It was easy enough to make excuses, or explain it away by the fact that he'd come to associate the act of wanking with being with his best mates, and of course the fact that they were there and might even catch him at it added to the experience. They were a pair of sick bastards, but so was he, apparently--and it wasn't as though he was in any danger of falling to his knees and sucking George off the next time he saw him, was it?   
  
Still, the events of that night were always a bothersome niggle in the back of Lee's mind, something that sprang forward to haunt him on rare occasions, like the night that they got drunk celebrating the shop's first month in business and George passed out with his head in Lee's lap. Or the time that Lee was in the middle of the dance floor with that hot Hungarian bird and George came up behind him (in an apparent dare from Fred) and ground up against his backside.   
  
Disconcerting, but manageable. And something that was easily ignored after the first time the twins brought him to an Order of the Phoenix meeting and Lee was faced with the reality of war, and the fact that any one of them might bite the big one at any given moment. He'd seen a different side of his friends then, and the recklessness and bouts of violence and apparent irresponsibility they'd shown at school were revealed to be courage and brutal skill and strength of character. They were fighting for their family and their friends, and for a world where everybody got an equal shot at happiness. _Of course_ he was going to be right there with them, fighting alongside them, risking everything.   
  
But one night in the dark after a mission gone wonky, the reality what they were risking hit them full force. They were meant to rendezvous in the basement below the Hog's Head, but Fred and Tonks were late. Lee and George could hear the patrons of the pub moving above their heads, but Aberforth had left a black candle out--the signal that they were to keep quiet and keep their eyes open--that someone upstairs was suspicious. Not that half the patrons of the pub weren't suspicious, but Aberforth really had a good instinct for those sorts of things, and George and Lee stayed close to the door in the dark, wands ready but unlit, prepared to ambush anyone who came down there looking. The minutes passed by at an agonizingly slow pace.   
  
George was pacing, his anguish apparent even though Lee couldn't see his face in the dark. Lee was feeling it too, and not just for George's sake, but his own. If something happened to Fred, would George survive it? Would Lee have to sit and watch while the most vibrant person he knew was rendered an empty shell by grief and loss? Just the idea was unbearable. "You're driving me mad," he said. "Can't you think of something else to do but pace?"   
  
"Haven't got any Gobstones, have I?" George muttered.   
  
"Haven't got any smut, either, I suppose?" Lee asked, trying to distract him.   
  
"Sorry, fresh out." That got George to halt in his steps, and Lee could see the flash of his white teeth in the dim light and knew that he'd gotten a smile, at least.   
  
"Well, it'd be a better way to pass the time than pacing and fretting like a worried mum, wouldn't it? No bed curtains here, but it's dark enough."   
  
"But still no porn," George pointed out.   
  
"S'not as if you haven't got the filthiest mind I know without visual aids. Can't you pull up something from your memory?"   
  
"Suppose I could," George, said, and sat down hard on the floor about a yard away from Lee. "Of course, you were always better at describing things from memory."   
  
"I'd hope so," Lee said. "Otherwise I don't know what QW is paying me for."   
  
"Go on, then." George said. "Paint me a filthy picture, writer boy. Just make sure it doesn't include goats, because the smell is about to kill me down here."   
  
"Right," Lee said, racking his brain. His hand was nowhere near his own cock, but he heard the metallic ring of George's zip. Already Lee could feel that first prickle of arousal at the back of his neck.   
  
"So, er...the one with the two tarts in the mud, wrestling, and the one girl ripped off the other girl's top. They mashed their tits together and rubbed their pussies together and they started snogging and you could see their tongues outside their mouths."   
  
George chuckled and his voice had gone a bit deeper. "Yeah that's a good one. The other one lowered her head and started licking at her tits. Holy shit, I'd have paid my last Knut to know what happened after."   
  
"I'm sure you imagined well enough."   
  
"Reckon so," George replied, and Lee heard the squelch of lubricant on skin.   
  
"And then the one where the dark witch had her pussy pierced. She kept tugging at that ring, opening up the folds of her skin so you could see up inside her, twisting her nipples, panting..."   
  
"Damn, she had the best tits." George said, and Lee could tell he was beginning to get breathless. He shifted on the floor as George continued. "Braids, too, right, and don't tell me you didn't think of Angelina while you beat your broomstick."   
  
Lee felt himself hardening, and palmed his cock through his trousers. "Remember the Asian bird who took the black guy in her arse and the white guy in her cunt? Would have been better if the picture moved, but they had all those close up shots."   
  
"Oh, fuck, yeah, that was a good one. You kept that one for days, and I kept nagging you to pass it on."   
  
Lee unbuttoned his trousers as silently as he could manage, wondering if George had pictured him at all while he waited--if he'd pictured Lee fantasizing about himself and one of the twins, sharing a girl like that. Because he so totally had.   
  
He drew his wand and slicked his hand, rummaging through his mental warehouse of smutty images to come up with worthy one. Probably not a good idea to bring up the goblin orgy or the house elf pole dancer, he mused.   
  
But a perfectly insane idea to say the next words that came out of his mouth, almost involuntarily; "Or the time that you left your curtains open and I watched you, knowing what you were looking at because I'd just pointed out the picture. I should have looked away, but I watched your fist moving faster than lighting and your face was all red and your eyes were screwed shut and your hair was sticking to your forehead and then you opened your eyes and caught me watching you and came all over your hand."   
  
"Fuck," George muttered, and the hand in question started moving faster.   
  
"We didn't ever talk about it, did we?" Lee said, emboldened by the dark, shivering at the first contact of his hand on his cock.   
  
He could hear George breathing heavily just an arm's length away, and Lee started moving his own hand in time to George's strokes. "I always wondered if you'd got off because you'd grown used to doing it with someone else nearby or of it was because I was watching you."   
  
George's hand stilled for a moment then, and Lee suspected he could hear a strangled moan being held inside his throat.   
  
"I liked it," George finally whispered, and Lee nearly came then and there. Biting his lip, he moved closer to George, who was still breathing hard but no longer moving his fist. With a trembling hand, Lee reached out to cover George's hand with his own, fully expecting George to recoil in disgust or give him a black eye. Instead, George resumed his strokes, taking Lee's hand along with it, and Lee was so terrified he thought his heart was going to burst through his chest or that his head would explode from the pressure of trying not to think too much and just go with his instincts.   
  
George's fist began to move faster and Lee increased the pressure of his hand over George's, afraid to touch anything but his hand, trying to stroke himself at the same time. It was easy enough to pretend, in the dark, that this was another of the dreams he'd never wanted to admit having had. And by that reasoning, he wondered why he was going about it by halves, so he let his fingers wander over George's fist, touching the tip of his cock and spreading the moisture around. George froze again, and this time the moan in his throat actually came up out of his mouth. Lee gently pulled George's hand away, then closed his fingers around George's cock and squeezed lightly. George seemed to hiss as he exhaled, but again, he didn't seem to be objecting. Well, Lee hadn't got a fist in his eye or a fat lip or even a 'what the fuck are you on about, you sick bastard,' so he squeezed again, trying to accustom his grip to a cock that was thicker but shorter than his own.   
  
Then he began stroking, and he could almost but not quite confirm that George had thrown his head back in the dark, and couldn't quite make out whether or not his eyes had closed, but he could picture the face that George was making well enough--it had been haunting him for two years at least. Lee was hesitant at first, moving slowly, finding that it wasn't an easy move to master from a different angle. He worked out a rhythm soon enough, and George was panting, pressing his pelvis up towards Lee's palm, and Lee himself was harder than he'd ever remembered being, aching to be touched, light-headed with excitement. He wasn't sure he could manage jerking both of them off at once, though wouldn't that be brilliant? He could ease his aching cock with his palm, though, and that was enough because he really didn't want to lose his focus on George. Surreal as it was, Lee was beginning to suspect that he wasn't dreaming and that what he was feeling at that moment was something that would stay with him for a very long time, if not the rest of his life. Maybe he'd regret it later, but he doubted it.   
  
He scooted closer to get a better grip, and he could feel George's hot breath close to his face, could feel George's denim-clad thigh pressed up against his own and the same blood that George's heart was pumping pulsed through the organ in his hand. And then suddenly he felt George's hand on his thigh, light and inconsequential in reality, but heavy with meaning. Lee very nearly froze in surprise, but it seemed imperative not to stop and think at that moment--or to give George a reason to stop and think--better still to just let George's cock make the decisions for him. He was proven right when George's hand pushed Lee's free hand aside in the dark and palmed his cock--almost, but not quite circling it with his fingers. Lee exhaled sharply and pumped his fist in a frenzy, silently praying that George's natural curiosity would overcome his aversion or uncertainty.   
  
George's fingers made a loose circle around him and moved up in an awkward jerky movement, but the next stroke was tighter and more certain. Lee swore under his breath and moved closer to George, leaning his forehead against his friend's. He laid his free hand over George's in encouragement, and George quickly found a rhythm, making Lee groan and mutter, "Yeah, that's right, like that, fucking brilliant, faster, harder."   
  
George complied, and Lee reluctantly took his hand off George's. Not knowing what else to do with it, he laid it on George's thigh, feeling the muscles twitch under his fingertips. George moved faster still, and Lee could almost but not quite search for meaning and intention in the eyes so close to his own, but he wasn't sure he wanted the answers they were going to give him, and anyway, what was he complaining about when he was making George babble incomprehensibly and George's hand felt so bloody brilliant, doing what it was doing? George was breathing raggedly now, and then to Lee's utter astonishment, he took his free hand and buried it in Lee's hair, fingering the locks for a moment as if he was stroking and reassuring a girl. Lee found his head being tilted to the side and George's lips were so close that he felt not only the puff of George's breath on his face, but the condensation of the hot air from George's lungs was coating his lips. His head was spinning (was George actually trying to kiss him?) and then George's cock began to pulse in Lee's hand and he felt hot liquid spilling out over his fingers and felt George's fingers tightening in his hair almost to the point of pain as George let out a long, shuddering groan.   
  
For that moment, the hand on Lee's cock had stilled, but after a final shudder or two from George's body, it began moving again, seemingly with more purpose. Faster, and harder, and Lee was grunting and bucking up into George's grip and suddenly George's lips made contact with Lee's--dry and chapped and fleeting at first, and then with more pressure. George's tongue moistened both his own lips and Lee's, and Lee responded by pressing closer to George, his tongue escaping his mouth in order to coax George's out again. When George's tongue brushed against his, twining around it like a snake (or a bird) on a pole, Lee let out a long groan and came into George's hand. It seemed to go on forever, and George didn't seem in any great hurry to let him go, and Lee reached up to pull George close and kiss him hard, inadvertently covering George's hair and face and neck with his own bodily fluids.   
  
Maybe it was that, or maybe George's brain finally started working properly, but George let go of him in a hurry, holding his hand up toward the faint light of the tiny window as if he was surprised to find it sticky and wasn't sure how to deal with it. Lee grasped his wrist, trying not to be hurt by the fact that George flinched at first. He located the wand he'd dropped and cleaned George's hand, banishing forever the residue of stickiness and even whatever smell might have been there. What had he been thinking, anyway? Of course George was going to panic, Lee was rather freaked out himself, actually, wondering if he'd just managed to lose one of his best mates by thinking with his other brain. For the first time on the whole proceedings, he was grateful for the dark. He cleaned up his own mess, tucked his cock back into his trousers and scanned the floor with his barely lit wand to see if there was anything sticky left there. Then he stood, towering over George, whose body language indicated that he was either going to start pacing again or possibly bolt through the door.   
  
Carefully avoiding George's eyes, Lee murmured, "Wait, Come here." He held the light up to the side of George's face and wiped whatever mess he'd left there with the jumper he'd been using as a cushion. He'd throw it away when he got home, or maybe he'd treasure it forever. Lowering his wand, he finally met George's eyes in the light, and to his astonishment, he didn't see disgust there. Uncertainty, definitely, and clearly George was at a loss for words, but he wasn't avoiding Lee's eyes. Lee wanted to touch his face again, but instead put his hand on George's shoulder, something he'd done a thousand times before with no harm to either of them.   
  
"Don't...just don't think. We'll talk about it later if you want. Or forget it ever happened."   
  
George seemed about to say something--maybe he was going to object or maybe he wanted to tell Lee to bugger off, or possibly (though likely not) he wanted to kiss Lee again. Whatever it was, at that moment, they heard a sound outside the door, and George's face went from alarm to hope to joy all in a matter of moments as he recognized Fred's agreed-upon signal. Lee's own heart had leapt in a very few moments from anguish to uncertainty to hope to disappointment to relief (tinged with confusion) but he reckoned that as long as George didn't hate him and Fred was safe from harm, he could handle anything else that happened.   
  
And if ever anyone asked why he'd felt the need to comfort his best mate in his hour of darkness with a hand job, he could always fall back on blaming the porn. Warped your mind, that shite did. Everyone knew that.   
  



End file.
